Accepting My Father

I remember when I was six years old. Barely three feet tall, I stood on the edge of the municipal pool. “Jump, Ney Ann!” coaxed my father, arms outstretched. “I’ll catch you!” The water was over my head, and I was petrified. “No, I can’t do it!” I called out, trembling. “Yes, you can,” he shouted. “Jump, and I’ll catch... >Full Story

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